Unexpected Diagnosis
by Mark Louis Jones
Summary: Sarah and Mark. Two people, one goal. Survival.
1. Chapter 1

Unexpected Diagnosis

The sun sets on a muggy Greensboro afternoon. All the local eateries are opening their doors, promising small town cooking for the masses. Most of the offices were closing for the day, bar a few workaholics who lived for and only by their work. The highways were flooded as usual, and the symphony of car horns and hurled expletives filled the air in a sort of ironic beauty.

But it was far from the end of the day for the Mercy Medical and Emergency staff. Patient #127 was complaining of dehydration. #391 had an upset stomach. They almost lost someone into a coma in the ER. They ran low on Morphine and were forced to improvise. Just another day at the office.

The only sounds to be heard was of the life support's gentle hum and the occasional moan from the troubled patient. The floors were spotless, indeed, their cleanliness was only surpassed by their service. It was from the observation room that Patient #67 awoke in a sweat, breathing heavily and clutching her chest.

"Another nightmare...."

They were becoming much more frequent, and it was the same thing each time. She and her friends were crowded into an SUV, laughing heartily at a joke someone told but no one understood. She turned up the radio, remembering that she liked the tune but couldn't place a name on the song. It was a beautiful day, and for all appearances it would stay that way.

However, appearances can and are sometimes deceiving. A gravel truck took the turn too fast. Time seemed to slow down and stop. The driver of the truck, who'se features were distorted and yet familiar, stared at her in dread. A piercing screech of metal, followed by a scream, possibly her own. A jarring impact, and the scream was cut short. The only thing that she could see was red, a seemingly never ending sea of blood. No one answered her calls for help, and looking around no one was able to. She prayed that they were just unconscious, but knew they weren't.

Their empty yet accusing stares persisted until she awoke, sometimes with a scream caught in her throat.

As she slowly came to her senses, Sarah looked around at her environment. It was a typical hospital, white everything, so bright it hurt. Sheets tucked in so tight she could barely move. This suffocating atmosphere was meant to reassure and calm, instead it only filled her with a sense of dread she could not yet understand. Without even thinking, she picked up the call button, stared at it for a few seconds, and then rang it.

A few seconds later, a tired looking, middle aged African American woman padded into the room, her nursing shoes barely making a sound at all. Lines were visible under her eyes, and irritation was evident in her voice when she rasped "Yes ma'am?"

She thought for a few seconds, then said quietly "A glass of water would be very nice. When do you think I'll be able to go home?"

She never got the answer to that question, because as the nurse opened her mouth to speak, an earth shattering boom rocked the hospital. The nurse was thrown off her feet, and just as Sarah began to fight to get out of bed, the lights went out.

Author's note: This story may or may not integrate the events of Left 4 Dead into it's storyline, the original 4 may even make an appearance. Be honest with your feedback, and let me know if there's anything I need to work on. ~Mark. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Attention all units, we have a domestic dispute at 1094 Liverwood Dr., possible shots fired, over."

"Sanderson to Dispatch, requesting backup, over?" "Dispatch to Sanderson, negative, all backup units are already engaged, over." "Burkley to Dispatch, we have officers down over here, over!" "Rogers to Dispatch, shots fired, shots fired at 1094 Liv----"

"A symphony of destruction...." Mark mused to himself as he turned the volume up even higher, catching more gunshots and screams then intelligible broadcasts. Whenever he tried a news station, all he got was recorded messages ordering residents to stay inside their homes and stay calm, wait for new information, the same bullshit every news station was programmed to say with as much false emotion as they could muster. Fuck no, if the riots were as bad as they sounded, then he needed to get out of the city, and fast.

The radio had dissolved into static, so he shut it off. In the new silence, an eerie sense of being watched settled over him, and it was if someone had poured ice water into his veins as a practical joke. The birds that normally chirped until he got a migraine or passed out were silent, something most unlike them. His stomach rose and then settled again when he remembered he hadn't locked the front door. Reaching the threshold of the kitchen, he slipped his 45. Caliber service pistol out of it's hiding spot in the small of his back, and with a glance ascertained that it was in fact loaded and ready to go.

Rushing into the dining room, clearing the doorway quickly just like he had been trained, Mark aimed at any logical place a human, or nightmare, could be expected to attack from. No one was there. He repeated the ritual with the next doorway, which a few months ago had seemed a waste of his time, but now he mentally kicked himself for not paying better attention. Safely he reached the front door, quickly slid the deadbolt into place, and then realized how stupid he was. Rioters don't break into houses just to lie in wait for unsuspecting home owners. The more he thought about it, the more idiotic he felt. He slid the pistol into place behind his belt, and started walking back to the kitchen, and then he heard the moan directly behind him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Slowly, Sarah came to. The darkness was gone, replaced by a creepy red light, no doubt from the hospital's backup generators. Feeling the top of her head, she felt the gnarled and ugly bruise, caused by the brutal accident that had sent her here in the first place. It was throbbing, and pulling her hand away she felt fresh blood. Slowly, the throbbing subsided, and the dots in her vision faded. Screaming, shouting, and sickening thuds could be heard down the hall. Her heart rising to her throat, she remembered a news cast she had seen not too long ago about a new disease that caused the afflicted to go mad, to perceive all around them as hostile, except those who were also afflicted by the disease. They were blind to mercy, to compassion, and were as likely to beat down an unarmed child as a heavily armed man.

Finally freeing herself from her sheet's suffocating choke hold, Sarah slipped down to the floor, shivering as the ice cold tile cooled her bare feet. Despite everything, a blush made it's way to her cheeks when she remembered the embarrassingly short hospital gown. Padding along as silently as she could, peeking around corners when she could, she was doing well, emotionally and physically, until she almost stepped on the body of her nurse. Turning the corner, forgetting to look down, she instead stepped on the hem of her hospital coat, and it took all the self discipline she had to hold in her scream.

The woman, who looked so frail while she was alive, didn't even come close to comparing to her cadaver. Something had caved in her skull with several hard blows to the head, ripped her throat out, and disemboweled her, and judging by the look of terror on her face, it had all happened while she was still alive. With as much courage as she could muster, Sarah stepped carefully around the body, and silently stepped into the next room, closing the door behind her. Coincidentally enough, it was a bathroom, which was good. She managed to make it to the toilet before she started retching uncontrollably. Breakfast, lunch, last night's dinner, and afternoon snack, all in a gushing torrent.

After she was finished, she didn't even bother flushing, it wouldn't do any good and would only serve to bring attention to herself. Then, surprisingly, tears began to roll down her face. She didn't know the woman, and certainly didn't like her, but she was a human being nonetheless. When she finally managed to get control of herself, she rose to her feet, wobbled uncertainly, and then steadied and slipped out the door. The first thing she noticed is that the nurse's body was gone. The next thing she noticed was the nurse herself, swinging a fist covered with blood at her face.

Author's note: Yes, you crazy bastards, I am making pretty much every chapter end on a cliffhanger ending. What this does is creates hype and suspense, much like a TV drama, and makes the viewers [Hopefully] excited for the next chapter. 


	4. Chapter 4

*THWACK*

Not wasting any time, Mark swung a powerful uppercut, smashing the man's jaw and throwing him to the floor. His knuckles smarting from the impact, Mark stepped towards the kitchen, only stopping when the man began to move. Miraculously, he started to get up from the floor, showing little to no care for his injuries. The first thing he did was wonder at how this was possible. The next move he made was a little more direct. Taking two steps forward, Mark drove his steel toed heel into the man's face. Apparently coming down harder then he'd intended, his foot went straight through the man's forehead and deep into his head, and he immediately stopped fighting and lay still. Nonchalantly, he pulled his foot out with a loud sucking sound, and wiped the man's brain matter on the carpet, along with a thick, brownish substance that almost refused to part with his boot.

Returning to the kitchen, he noticed the back door lay off it's hinges. Bananas, a loaf of bread, and several gallons of water were scattered across the floor. The radio, which he had distinctively turned off, was on again, with screams being the sole source of sound before being cut to static. Two men and a woman were staring at him as if in a trance. Their eyes were completely soulless, solid white with no pupils. Their mouths foamed with bloody saliva, as if contemplating the 6 foot 2 walking buffet in front of them. Then, as one, they began to shuffle towards him, moaning loudly. They moved slow, without hurry but with purpose. The woman's stomach had been torn open, and her intestines hung out like strands of confetti. Oblivious to this, she led the pack as they slowly crossed the kitchen floor towards him.

Not liking the odds of a three versus one fight, he backed away, simultaneously slipping his service pistol from it's hiding place. The cold steel felt reassuring in his hand, and he silently thanked his drill instructor for forcing him to go to the range on a daily basis. Sighting on one of the "Things", he fired a single round at his chest, hoping to disable him. The deafening boom of the gun in the close quarters of the house made his ears ring, and the brass shell was unheard as it pinged off the floor. The man looked down, as if puzzled, then dropped like a rock. A perfect heart shot. His heart raced, and he thanked the Gods for his luck, until a much louder moaning began, and about 10 more of the things burst through the entrance, stepping on and over their fallen comrade. Those same Gods appeared to have quite the sense of black humor.

Glancing quickly behind him, Mark ran. His bastard hip, having recently gone through surgery, slowed him down a little, but his training had kicked in, and all of the soreness was forgotten. Hopping over the banister, he raced up the stairs, leaving their moans and shuffling feet behind. Reaching the top, he looked around frantically, spotting a small desk, more of a decoration then serving any actual purpose. Sweeping the papers and glass bottles off, he dragged it to the top of the stairwell and pitched it into the stairwell, knocking down the lead 3 creatures that were ascending.

Racing back into his bedroom, he dove under his bed like a kid, only to resurface holding a pump action shotgun. Shiny as any gun could ever be, the barrel was inscribed with "Kill or be killed, a soldier's motto". Reaching back under, he removed a few boxes of shells, which he upended into his pants pockets. He plucked the six remaining shells from the box. Loading the gun to capacity, he pumped the weapon with the satisfying rasp of steel on steel. The moans of the animals were much closer, and one of them's head stuck above the railing, screeching a battle cry of sorts.

"Bring it, motherfuckers." 


End file.
